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I have been extraordinarily lazy on this vacation. For years, as I have taken these generally yearly trips overseas, I have written a daily, or several times daily, journal so my mother, who simply could not travel, would be able to experience the trip with me. Since these travels were always to see family, I would often write about domestic issues, different ways of doing the most ordinary of things in such disparate places as Colombia, Australia, Canada, France, London, and even New York City. This was my special gift to her, to let her travel with me as I used our shared love of writing to give her as much of the experience as possible.
With her death this past September, I find that I re-live how very much I miss her when I think "Oh, I must tell her about this--she'd be fascinated!" And, she is not here to read my words. I no longer have the deep stabs of grief, just the general sense of missing her and knowing that this provided her so much pleasure. But it also means I have most definitely slacked off in my writing.
However, there is more to my laziness than just that. There are both "do" vacations and "be" vacations. We who live in the US, who are really more "human doings" than human beings, experience most of our vacations as "do" vacations. We have specified places we need to be at a certain time, certain things that we plan to do, sights to see, schedules to keep, all even on vacation. Nothing wrong with that, of course, except so often people come back from vacations even more fatigued and less refreshed than when they left.
This time in London has been for me a very much "be" vacation. As I was preparing for the trip, I had thoughts about wanting to see certain things and go to certain destinations. But after I arrived, and let the fatigue that has been dogging me for months have its full reign, I put down all plans. Although by habit, I have put on my watch each morning, I have not looked at it once. I have not turned on my phone except for an hour recently when I walked to a nearby store to pick up something for Adriana and needed to phone her when I couldn't find it, so no longer have it's ubiquitous time stamp looking at me multiple times a day when I would get a call or message or need to check email.
When it is time for Adriana to go pick up the children or take care of some shopping, I either go with her if I feel like it and am ready to walk out the door, or I don't. If I go, I enjoy it. If I don't, I sit in the quiet house and read and think or perhaps, should I feel expecially energetic, clean up the kitchen or take a walk in the nearby woods or on the wandering, pretty streets here. For my walks, I leave when I leave and I get back when I get back, and don't worry about it otherwise.
After a week here, my body clock, always slow to adjust fully to time changes, finally permitted me to fall into a sound sleep around last night 10:00 p.m. (4 p.m. Central Time). I woke at 3 a.m., very alert, and enjoyed a long, leisurely time of prayer before falling back into a restful three more hours of sleep, awaking to the sounds of the children playing and laughing--possibly the most joyous sounds ever made.
I have been in charge of so much for so long, that to be in charge of nothing, except to decide, "perhaps today would be a good day to wash a few clothes" is incredibly refreshing.
Tomorrow, (Friday), I know that Jonathan and Adriana must take Joshua to the US Embassy in London to have his passport renewed. Joshua turns five in just over a week, and the passport issued at his birth becomes invalid at that point. Unlike adults who only have to renew every 10 years, children, for good reason, must renew every five years. I'll probably go with them, just to experience London proper one more time, but also feel very free not to, should I wish.
And after a week of being fed only the most healthy and exquisitely prepared food, and with the resumption of long, leisurely walks, I have a sense of health returning. Great joy to be had here!
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Monday, May 02, 2011
Turnabout is Fair Play
With the time difference (six hours ahead) and no live TV here so no news broadcasters to break into the one TV show Jonathan and Adriana occasionally watch, we didn't find out about the Bin Laden killing until about two hours ago, and only because I decided to check email this morning and saw the news post.
I am both relieved and troubled. This man's actions have caused enormous suffering in the world. Not just the destruction on US soil, but the aftermath, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the loss of so many lives and the growing crisis of confidence in this country. One man, surrounded by like-minded followers, who were willing to sacrifice their lives for their cause, changed the course of the world radically.
That same description could be used for Jesus. But Bin Laden was willing to send others to death while keeping his own life, while Jesus was willing to go to his own death so that others could live.
I admit it, I'm glad Bin Laden is dead. But I'm not so naive as to think that someone won't rise to take his place. Or multiple someones. We cannot eliminate evil by violence, no matter how necessary this violence probably was. I'm in total agreement that wickedness must be addressed but I think it is best addressed by transformation of life and soul and heart, not by murder, terrorism, and fear.
I come back to this little household in London. Saturday night, all four children spent the night at Adriana's sister's house so Jonathan and Adriana could celebrate their eighth anniversary of their introduction and so Granny, i.e., me, would not have the challenge of getting the little ones here to bed alone.
Last night, all four spent the night here so Ian and Rocio could have a late evening out. Today is a bank holiday in London, so schools are still out, so no problem if they got less sleep than usual. I woke this morning to the sounds of happy voices playing as the cousins do so enjoy each other's company.
Turnabout, fair play, we give and take, you give and take. It all works when the give and take is done with love and connection and hope. When the turnabout is you murder and then I murder, the end result is more murder. Neither cycle, either the one done in love and connection nor the one done in hatred and retribution, has a defined ending point. But both have defined effects, and both will transform the world, one for good and one for evil.
What we need are more peole who are like Bin Laden's disciples but instead of being willing to sacrifice their lives for evil are willing to lay down their lives for good.
I am both relieved and troubled. This man's actions have caused enormous suffering in the world. Not just the destruction on US soil, but the aftermath, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the loss of so many lives and the growing crisis of confidence in this country. One man, surrounded by like-minded followers, who were willing to sacrifice their lives for their cause, changed the course of the world radically.
That same description could be used for Jesus. But Bin Laden was willing to send others to death while keeping his own life, while Jesus was willing to go to his own death so that others could live.
I admit it, I'm glad Bin Laden is dead. But I'm not so naive as to think that someone won't rise to take his place. Or multiple someones. We cannot eliminate evil by violence, no matter how necessary this violence probably was. I'm in total agreement that wickedness must be addressed but I think it is best addressed by transformation of life and soul and heart, not by murder, terrorism, and fear.
I come back to this little household in London. Saturday night, all four children spent the night at Adriana's sister's house so Jonathan and Adriana could celebrate their eighth anniversary of their introduction and so Granny, i.e., me, would not have the challenge of getting the little ones here to bed alone.
Last night, all four spent the night here so Ian and Rocio could have a late evening out. Today is a bank holiday in London, so schools are still out, so no problem if they got less sleep than usual. I woke this morning to the sounds of happy voices playing as the cousins do so enjoy each other's company.
Turnabout, fair play, we give and take, you give and take. It all works when the give and take is done with love and connection and hope. When the turnabout is you murder and then I murder, the end result is more murder. Neither cycle, either the one done in love and connection nor the one done in hatred and retribution, has a defined ending point. But both have defined effects, and both will transform the world, one for good and one for evil.
What we need are more peole who are like Bin Laden's disciples but instead of being willing to sacrifice their lives for evil are willing to lay down their lives for good.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Men and Cooking
There were four adults sitting around the lunch table today. The two boys, Joshua and Sammy, were contentedly eating their lunch at the breakfast bar, but at the more formal table, Jonathan, Adriana and I were joined by Ian, Adriana's brother-in-law. One of the things I've learned on my visits here: when a meal is served, either at Adriana's house or at her sister, Rocio's, house (about .8 mile away), any member of the other family is welcome at any time. It's a wonderful arrangement as the two sisters often cook for each other making sure everyone gets properly fed at any time.
Anyway, we started talking about the meal in front of us and I commented on how few Americans (and Brits as well, according to Ian), eat this way. Jonathan snorted and said, "I don't see why. It only took 10 minutes to put the pork in the oven to roast this morning."
Adriana and I looked at each other and started laughing. In addition to a very nice piece of roasted pork, there was also a feast of vegetables of lightly steamed sweet and white potatoes, broccoli, green beans, and carrots and some freshly made guacamole. In addition, I had cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast (two eggs over easy with aged cheddar grated on them accompanied by sauteed mushrooms), making it possible for lunch to be prepared more quickly, and the table had been beautifully set. I would also do the after lunch kitchen clean-up duty, and that would include a the soaking and scouring of a very much encrusted pan in which the meat had so beautifully and deliciously roasted. There is so much more to preparing a good meal than putting the meat onto roast or on the grill, unfortunately.
As I've noted earlier, Jonathan and I have been having many conversations about our joint reading as we consider the connection between diet and health. When he first became acquainted with Colombian culture and family life when he and Adriana met, eight years ago, he saw a petite and very healthy group of people. Diet was fresh fish and fresh meat, fresh vegetables, rice, coffee, a small amount of bread, and massive amounts of fresh fruit.
He has always indulged her need to buy only the freshest and healthiest of foods, no matter what the cost--and it is costly, no doubt about it. But Adriana and the children simply glow with good health, straight teeth, and good energy. Nonetheless, Jonathan himself began to put on weight because he was traveling so much of the time, caught multiple colds and coughs, and despite the fact that he often trained for marathons and would bike an hour or more a day when possible.
About eight months ago, he adopted a completely different workout routine and at the most exercises for 10 high intensity minutes twice a week, sometimes less. And he changed his own eating patterns to what is called the "Paleo diet." It's high in meat and eggs, as many green vegetables as possible, olive oil as needed, fruit only in season (and never bananas or other extremely sweet fruits), minimal dairy, almost no grains of any kind, and something sweet on the rarest of occasions. He's now down to his high school grad weight, never eats anything served on an airplane except water (he often flies several thousand miles a week in his consulting work), is never seriously hungry even when having to go a long periods of time between finding food that is on this eating plan, and feels ever so much better.
We've also talked much about the aging process. There is some evidence, but very sketchy evidence, that people who do eat this way for a lifetime not only avoid the debilitating diseases of civilization (heart disease, type-2 diabetes, dementia, brittle bones) but tend to live vigorously until a short time before their deaths.
I know there is a growing bandwagon of support for this way of living. I also know how very complicated it is to change the way we eat. Everything in front of us tell us to eat just the opposite. But it could very well be that the opposite really is killing us slowly and miserably.
Anyway, we started talking about the meal in front of us and I commented on how few Americans (and Brits as well, according to Ian), eat this way. Jonathan snorted and said, "I don't see why. It only took 10 minutes to put the pork in the oven to roast this morning."
Adriana and I looked at each other and started laughing. In addition to a very nice piece of roasted pork, there was also a feast of vegetables of lightly steamed sweet and white potatoes, broccoli, green beans, and carrots and some freshly made guacamole. In addition, I had cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast (two eggs over easy with aged cheddar grated on them accompanied by sauteed mushrooms), making it possible for lunch to be prepared more quickly, and the table had been beautifully set. I would also do the after lunch kitchen clean-up duty, and that would include a the soaking and scouring of a very much encrusted pan in which the meat had so beautifully and deliciously roasted. There is so much more to preparing a good meal than putting the meat onto roast or on the grill, unfortunately.
As I've noted earlier, Jonathan and I have been having many conversations about our joint reading as we consider the connection between diet and health. When he first became acquainted with Colombian culture and family life when he and Adriana met, eight years ago, he saw a petite and very healthy group of people. Diet was fresh fish and fresh meat, fresh vegetables, rice, coffee, a small amount of bread, and massive amounts of fresh fruit.
He has always indulged her need to buy only the freshest and healthiest of foods, no matter what the cost--and it is costly, no doubt about it. But Adriana and the children simply glow with good health, straight teeth, and good energy. Nonetheless, Jonathan himself began to put on weight because he was traveling so much of the time, caught multiple colds and coughs, and despite the fact that he often trained for marathons and would bike an hour or more a day when possible.
About eight months ago, he adopted a completely different workout routine and at the most exercises for 10 high intensity minutes twice a week, sometimes less. And he changed his own eating patterns to what is called the "Paleo diet." It's high in meat and eggs, as many green vegetables as possible, olive oil as needed, fruit only in season (and never bananas or other extremely sweet fruits), minimal dairy, almost no grains of any kind, and something sweet on the rarest of occasions. He's now down to his high school grad weight, never eats anything served on an airplane except water (he often flies several thousand miles a week in his consulting work), is never seriously hungry even when having to go a long periods of time between finding food that is on this eating plan, and feels ever so much better.
We've also talked much about the aging process. There is some evidence, but very sketchy evidence, that people who do eat this way for a lifetime not only avoid the debilitating diseases of civilization (heart disease, type-2 diabetes, dementia, brittle bones) but tend to live vigorously until a short time before their deaths.
I know there is a growing bandwagon of support for this way of living. I also know how very complicated it is to change the way we eat. Everything in front of us tell us to eat just the opposite. But it could very well be that the opposite really is killing us slowly and miserably.
Greetings from the British Methodist Church
I prevailed upon Jonathan to help me find a Methodist church near here and to get me there in time for the morning worship service. He was going to attend with me, but then he suddenly got a bundle of urgent emails from work companions in a Middle Eastern country and realized he'd have to be answering email all during the service, so just dropped me off instead.
I walked in, was handed a songbook and bulletin by a friendly person, and told her, "I bring you greetings from the First UMC in Krum, Texas." She smiled delightedly, welcomed me again, and told me to make myself comfortable.
I found a seat about four rows from the front, and sat down. A moment later, a friendly woman stopped in front of my chair, proudly opened her jacket and displayed a T-shirt that displayed "TEXAS" in bright letters on it! She had been to Houston several times to visit friends and wanted to greet me. A few minutes later, the greeter herself seated herself right next to me, adding to the sense of welcome.
The service was very nice, with six songs interspersed with readings and short meditations. Today is "Thomas Sunday" in the British Methodist Church and the topic was the move from doubt (as in Doubting Thomas) to belief as in, "My Lord and My God."
The songbook had the words to hundreds of songs, but no notes, and most of the hymns were unfamiliar to me. Fortunately, my companion, Kay, had a beautiful voice and sang out with joy as did many others (about 80 in attendance, mostly but certainly not all, elderly), making it relatively easy to find the tune.
After worship and the dismissal, we all sat down for the postlude and began to chat a bit and then we're invited to "tea and biscuits" afterward. Kay asked what I wanted, and I said "black tea." I've learned quickly that otherwise my tea will be laced with milk.
Really blessed time. So, greetings, my Texas friends! I will miss you in worship but am also enjoying a lovely afternoon here after yet another extraordinarily healthy and perfectly cooked meal.
I walked in, was handed a songbook and bulletin by a friendly person, and told her, "I bring you greetings from the First UMC in Krum, Texas." She smiled delightedly, welcomed me again, and told me to make myself comfortable.
I found a seat about four rows from the front, and sat down. A moment later, a friendly woman stopped in front of my chair, proudly opened her jacket and displayed a T-shirt that displayed "TEXAS" in bright letters on it! She had been to Houston several times to visit friends and wanted to greet me. A few minutes later, the greeter herself seated herself right next to me, adding to the sense of welcome.
The service was very nice, with six songs interspersed with readings and short meditations. Today is "Thomas Sunday" in the British Methodist Church and the topic was the move from doubt (as in Doubting Thomas) to belief as in, "My Lord and My God."
The songbook had the words to hundreds of songs, but no notes, and most of the hymns were unfamiliar to me. Fortunately, my companion, Kay, had a beautiful voice and sang out with joy as did many others (about 80 in attendance, mostly but certainly not all, elderly), making it relatively easy to find the tune.
After worship and the dismissal, we all sat down for the postlude and began to chat a bit and then we're invited to "tea and biscuits" afterward. Kay asked what I wanted, and I said "black tea." I've learned quickly that otherwise my tea will be laced with milk.
Really blessed time. So, greetings, my Texas friends! I will miss you in worship but am also enjoying a lovely afternoon here after yet another extraordinarily healthy and perfectly cooked meal.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Success! The Children Stayed with Me!
Because of Jonathan's long sojourn's overseas, I often go for months on end without seeing him or spending any time with the grandchildren. For both of them, their first language is Spanish, but now that they are in school here in England, they have both become quite proficient in English and do understand instinctively that they must speak English with me.
I may never get over their British accents, and am grateful that they do seem to have acquired a nice, well-enunciated British accent. I noticed yesterday that Joshua, nearly five, was speaking to his dad in English rather than Spanish more. I asked Jonathan why. He answered, "Joshua doesn't think my Spanish is good enough!"
I really got tickled at that, but he's probably right. Anyone learning a different language past childhood will almost inevitably speak with some sort of an accent and probably make periodic grammatical mistakes. Adriana's English, while fluent, is deeply accented, and I really can't understand her well on the phone, although have no problem in person. Joshua has probably picked up that Jonathan, who didn't become really proficient at Spanish until after college, speaks it with a decided accent.
But, more to the point here: it has been hard for the children to get comfortable with me on our short visits. I was glad that they seemed to warm up quickly on this one, but still knew they had reservations about me.
This morning, Jonathan and Adriana needed to make their weekly grocery shopping trip. This is a huge deal because they rarely if ever eat out, everything is made fresh and cooked from scratch, and they use essentially no bread and pasta so meals are varieties of good meats, poultry and seafood and piles of vegetables, with soups made from scratch, and always with fresh fruit made available several times a day for snacks.
The children were given the choice of going to Costco with their parents or staying with Granny. They immediately decided on going, and I wasn't surprised. However, I mentioned that I was going to work in the garden all morning and would be digging in the dirt, and invited them to reconsider. The older one capitulated immediately and the younger a few seconds later.
We had a wonderful time together, cleaning out a neglected flower bed and getting dirty together. After a while, they wanted to come in and watch a video, and were only momentarily disappointed when I absolutely had no idea how to get the DVD to play (can't figure this out at my house either).
But, they played happily together inside, and I stayed out for a while, knowing that the doors were wide open and I could hear them if necessary.
They were absolute angels for me the entire time. What great joy for me. Can't help but to think of the constant invitation from God to quit being so shy about just spending time in that Holy Presence and just giving it a try. We are often so resistant to grace--and to Granny!!!
I may never get over their British accents, and am grateful that they do seem to have acquired a nice, well-enunciated British accent. I noticed yesterday that Joshua, nearly five, was speaking to his dad in English rather than Spanish more. I asked Jonathan why. He answered, "Joshua doesn't think my Spanish is good enough!"
I really got tickled at that, but he's probably right. Anyone learning a different language past childhood will almost inevitably speak with some sort of an accent and probably make periodic grammatical mistakes. Adriana's English, while fluent, is deeply accented, and I really can't understand her well on the phone, although have no problem in person. Joshua has probably picked up that Jonathan, who didn't become really proficient at Spanish until after college, speaks it with a decided accent.
But, more to the point here: it has been hard for the children to get comfortable with me on our short visits. I was glad that they seemed to warm up quickly on this one, but still knew they had reservations about me.
This morning, Jonathan and Adriana needed to make their weekly grocery shopping trip. This is a huge deal because they rarely if ever eat out, everything is made fresh and cooked from scratch, and they use essentially no bread and pasta so meals are varieties of good meats, poultry and seafood and piles of vegetables, with soups made from scratch, and always with fresh fruit made available several times a day for snacks.
The children were given the choice of going to Costco with their parents or staying with Granny. They immediately decided on going, and I wasn't surprised. However, I mentioned that I was going to work in the garden all morning and would be digging in the dirt, and invited them to reconsider. The older one capitulated immediately and the younger a few seconds later.
We had a wonderful time together, cleaning out a neglected flower bed and getting dirty together. After a while, they wanted to come in and watch a video, and were only momentarily disappointed when I absolutely had no idea how to get the DVD to play (can't figure this out at my house either).
But, they played happily together inside, and I stayed out for a while, knowing that the doors were wide open and I could hear them if necessary.
They were absolute angels for me the entire time. What great joy for me. Can't help but to think of the constant invitation from God to quit being so shy about just spending time in that Holy Presence and just giving it a try. We are often so resistant to grace--and to Granny!!!
Royal Wedding
After much thought, the extended family here decided only a selected few would venture to London for the Royal Wedding and the others would do kid-care and watch it on TV. We were concerned that the three youngest children (3, 4, 7) would get extremely fretful at the long hours of waiting and I was concerned that Granny (that would be me), might get as fretful as the children.
So, Adriana's sister, Rocio, and her husband, a native Brit, Ian, and their oldest, Katie dropped Grace off here quite early Friday and the rest of us stayed here.
We were just glued to the TV from the time Prince William and his brother Harry began the parade of lovely old cars to Westminister Chapel to the very finish of the ceremony and the procession back to Buckingham Palace. It was a nice day, thank goodness, and as far as anyone watching TV could say, there were no incidents.
In case you have not seen it, this was the most lighthearted moment of the day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFG5sDcv7bo&feature=player_embedded
But it really was a great day, full of hope and romance and wonderful worship and simply gorgeous clothes.
Rocio, Ian and Katie didn't get back here until nearly 3:30 p.m., but they said that the crowd control in London was quite well-done and they managed to get a view of the new bride leaving Westminister Chapel. We decided we had all made the best choice for the day.
So, Adriana's sister, Rocio, and her husband, a native Brit, Ian, and their oldest, Katie dropped Grace off here quite early Friday and the rest of us stayed here.
We were just glued to the TV from the time Prince William and his brother Harry began the parade of lovely old cars to Westminister Chapel to the very finish of the ceremony and the procession back to Buckingham Palace. It was a nice day, thank goodness, and as far as anyone watching TV could say, there were no incidents.
In case you have not seen it, this was the most lighthearted moment of the day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFG5sDcv7bo&feature=player_embedded
But it really was a great day, full of hope and romance and wonderful worship and simply gorgeous clothes.
Rocio, Ian and Katie didn't get back here until nearly 3:30 p.m., but they said that the crowd control in London was quite well-done and they managed to get a view of the new bride leaving Westminister Chapel. We decided we had all made the best choice for the day.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sherwood Forest
I have no idea where the actual Sherwood Forest was. However, there is a lovely forest just 1/4 mile from the house here that surely must be similar. Had there not been well-trodden trails, clearly used both by horses and people (this is horse country and there are multiple stables nearby), it would be impenetrable. Full of both tall trees and leafy undergrowth, it make a delightful walk on this quickly warming day. The forest is surrounded by a country club and stables, but unless you know where to look, they are invisible. Just wandering trails, laced with tree limbs, quiet and green.
Jonathan, who is taking the day off, and I walked for about an hour, I suppose. As always when I am on vacation, I rarely check my watch, and pay no attention to the passing of time.
We talked mostly about nutrition and the aging process. We both are reading similar books about the effects of optimal nutrition and how our westernized diets continue to prove themselves detrimental to long and short term health. He's done quite a bit more reading than I have about the Paleo-diet, and before we walked, downloaded a book on my Kindle about it that he thought I'd find intriguing.
My goal here while in England is to eat as healthily as possible, get sunshine, rest and some exercise, and see if I can't bring my energy level back up again.
Right at the moment, Adriana is fixing us lunch--fresh shrimp with steamed vegetables. She has always cooked with only fresh ingredients, made all her own baby food, and is herself as trim and energetic as it is possible to be. I generally lose weight when I spend extended periods of time with them. Will be interesting to see if that happens again here. I'm not going to be doing nearly as much child/baby care/laundry/kitchen work on this trip as I've done before, which has tended to keep me physically as busy, but will do some gardening and yard work, and that will at least keep me outside a good bit of the time.
We shall see. In the meantime, I'm healthily hungry right now.
Jonathan, who is taking the day off, and I walked for about an hour, I suppose. As always when I am on vacation, I rarely check my watch, and pay no attention to the passing of time.
We talked mostly about nutrition and the aging process. We both are reading similar books about the effects of optimal nutrition and how our westernized diets continue to prove themselves detrimental to long and short term health. He's done quite a bit more reading than I have about the Paleo-diet, and before we walked, downloaded a book on my Kindle about it that he thought I'd find intriguing.
My goal here while in England is to eat as healthily as possible, get sunshine, rest and some exercise, and see if I can't bring my energy level back up again.
Right at the moment, Adriana is fixing us lunch--fresh shrimp with steamed vegetables. She has always cooked with only fresh ingredients, made all her own baby food, and is herself as trim and energetic as it is possible to be. I generally lose weight when I spend extended periods of time with them. Will be interesting to see if that happens again here. I'm not going to be doing nearly as much child/baby care/laundry/kitchen work on this trip as I've done before, which has tended to keep me physically as busy, but will do some gardening and yard work, and that will at least keep me outside a good bit of the time.
We shall see. In the meantime, I'm healthily hungry right now.
London beginnings
I arrived in London Wednesday morning (2 a.m. our time) after a very rough 9 hour flight--I'd estimate 50% in some pretty severe turbulence. Slept little. Had an interminable line to go through immigration and the driver my son Jonathan had arranged for me nearly left before I got there.
But, fortunately, we connected and he brought me to their house safely where I promptly feel asleep for 3 1/2 hours.
I spent the rest of the day getting to know my grandchildren. Youngest, who has always been very standoffish toward me, is now my best friend. Oldest quickly resumed a comfortable relationship with me. Am quite fascinated with listening to them speak English which they do without a thought when talking to me, but then switching back to Spanish for each other or with their parents. Anyway, their English has a decided British accent, and very much British in terminology, as in putting petrol in their pretend cars and the horrors of eating porridge.
Now, it is Thursday, and after another 11 hours of sleep, I feel very much on London time and ready to tackle the world. Kind of.
Jonathan and Adriana moved about seven weeks ago to a different house in their south London neighborhood. This place is huge, especially by suburban London standards, and not an attached house, as was their former place. Four bedrooms and two full baths upstairs, and two great living spaces, a dining room, a fabulous kitchen, a study and another full bath downstairs, and a great backyard.
Apparently, the place is owned by some people from Pakistan who are living now in the Middle East and who bought this house for an investment. Jonathan figures the amount they pay for rent (which is atrociously high) barely covers the cost of the interest on the mortgage loan that the owners have, and the owners don't seem to be terribly bothered by it.
They have had to deal with numerous plumbing problems since they got in. Like most houses in this area, it is probably around 80 years old, but with many updates. It was empty for a long time before Jonathan's family moved in, and the long disuse of the plumbing facilities exacerbated problems already here. I also understand it is very challenging to get a plumber in London, but the fact that they have small children has helped, so bit by bit, all is getting fixed.
Tomorrow, if rain is not forecast, we really do plan to go into London proper with all the hundreds of thousands of others, and be a part of the crowd cheering on William and Kate as they exchange their nuptials. It's a national holiday, all businesses and school closed (and all pubs open, I understand) and should be a pretty wild day.
The boys are both in a private school not far from here as the crow flies, but a tortuous drive which Adriana has to make three times a day (Sammy just goes half days, Joshua full days). There is almost no parking near the school, but nevertheless, each parent must park someplace and then personally pick up and drop off the children at their classrooms. No drive-through pick up lines here.
Next year, Joshua, not yet five, will go into the first grade, and Sammy, just three, is not in pre-school, but in actual kindergarten. Lots of pressure on them already here, but that is probably the private school talking as I understand the education system as a whole is not particularly good in England these days.
More updates later, but now Sammy is home for the afternoon and the time will revolve around him in this very child-centered household.
But, fortunately, we connected and he brought me to their house safely where I promptly feel asleep for 3 1/2 hours.
I spent the rest of the day getting to know my grandchildren. Youngest, who has always been very standoffish toward me, is now my best friend. Oldest quickly resumed a comfortable relationship with me. Am quite fascinated with listening to them speak English which they do without a thought when talking to me, but then switching back to Spanish for each other or with their parents. Anyway, their English has a decided British accent, and very much British in terminology, as in putting petrol in their pretend cars and the horrors of eating porridge.
Now, it is Thursday, and after another 11 hours of sleep, I feel very much on London time and ready to tackle the world. Kind of.
Jonathan and Adriana moved about seven weeks ago to a different house in their south London neighborhood. This place is huge, especially by suburban London standards, and not an attached house, as was their former place. Four bedrooms and two full baths upstairs, and two great living spaces, a dining room, a fabulous kitchen, a study and another full bath downstairs, and a great backyard.
Apparently, the place is owned by some people from Pakistan who are living now in the Middle East and who bought this house for an investment. Jonathan figures the amount they pay for rent (which is atrociously high) barely covers the cost of the interest on the mortgage loan that the owners have, and the owners don't seem to be terribly bothered by it.
They have had to deal with numerous plumbing problems since they got in. Like most houses in this area, it is probably around 80 years old, but with many updates. It was empty for a long time before Jonathan's family moved in, and the long disuse of the plumbing facilities exacerbated problems already here. I also understand it is very challenging to get a plumber in London, but the fact that they have small children has helped, so bit by bit, all is getting fixed.
Tomorrow, if rain is not forecast, we really do plan to go into London proper with all the hundreds of thousands of others, and be a part of the crowd cheering on William and Kate as they exchange their nuptials. It's a national holiday, all businesses and school closed (and all pubs open, I understand) and should be a pretty wild day.
The boys are both in a private school not far from here as the crow flies, but a tortuous drive which Adriana has to make three times a day (Sammy just goes half days, Joshua full days). There is almost no parking near the school, but nevertheless, each parent must park someplace and then personally pick up and drop off the children at their classrooms. No drive-through pick up lines here.
Next year, Joshua, not yet five, will go into the first grade, and Sammy, just three, is not in pre-school, but in actual kindergarten. Lots of pressure on them already here, but that is probably the private school talking as I understand the education system as a whole is not particularly good in England these days.
More updates later, but now Sammy is home for the afternoon and the time will revolve around him in this very child-centered household.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I No Longer Say, "How Could They?"
I was only 20 years old when I first read the story. Although I suppose I had heard much of it before, I also know I spent most of my teen years routinely ignoring any words coming from my Sunday School teachers and from the pastors. I had become a master at blocking out anything to do with spiritual things. Typical youthful arrogance, I suspect. Thought I knew everything.
But in my college years, I read the story. Really read it, from beginning to end, in one sitting. I was captivated by this man who seemed so concerned about those on the edges of society, who could heal and feed people and speak in such a way that people who heard him would leave everything behind to just be around him.
Walking with him mentally from town to town, I heard his voice and jostled with his followers. I saw the growing crowds around him and felt myself one with them. I cheered with the rest when he entered Jerusalem, and excitedly watched as he cleared the place of worship from moneychangers, whose presence and work made it impossible for many to pray.
His teachings filled my mind, and I saw myself as one praised by him as he did the impoverished widow as I, who had so little money myself, knew that I had given what I could.
The odor of the roasting lamb entered my imagination as those early followers prepared the Passover meal. I also found myself troubled by one follower who had, in my mind, "gone over" to the enemies. But I felt sure that those enemies could not win--surely this man would outwit them and escape. After all, I had spent my formative years watching TV shows and movies and just knew the hero would defeat his enemies and come out unscathed.
I read about the prediction that one of his especially loyal followers would deny him. I thought, "I'd never do that. I'd stay firm to the end." Filled with my own pride in learning to be a disciple of this man, I read with growing horror the rest of the story. The unfair trials, the prejudiced judges, the nastiness of the crowds who called for the release of a thief and then demanded that this man, whom I had come to love, be killed.
I wept. I just wept. How could they?
Today, I read again that story, and I still weep. But I no longer say, "How could they?" In the years that have passed since I was 20, I have learned much about human nature, and even more about my own human tendencies.
With growing insight, especially in these last few years, I've come to realize that I would be one of those who might cheer this guy from the sidelines, when there was no real cost, but when directly questioned about my allegiance to him, I, too, would cut and run, just as almost everyone else did.
I know now how easily the human, including me, falls into evil, sticks with the crowd, sucks up to people in power, denies true goodness, and seeks to eradicate it.
As I learn this, Easter finally begins to make sense to me. It makes sense when I quit identifying myself as righteous and firm and sure that I would stay the course, but instead recognize that I am far more likely to yell out, "Crucify him!!!!" and go along with the crowd. Then when I hear the words, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they do," I know that I'm included in that pronouncement. So, when I, on Easter Sunday proclaim, “Christ is Risen!” I, too, receive the forgiveness because I really don't know what I am doing much of the time.
Worship with me on Sunday. Let us raise our voices together in grateful praise for the unending gift of re-union with our God. That’s the message of Easter.
But in my college years, I read the story. Really read it, from beginning to end, in one sitting. I was captivated by this man who seemed so concerned about those on the edges of society, who could heal and feed people and speak in such a way that people who heard him would leave everything behind to just be around him.
Walking with him mentally from town to town, I heard his voice and jostled with his followers. I saw the growing crowds around him and felt myself one with them. I cheered with the rest when he entered Jerusalem, and excitedly watched as he cleared the place of worship from moneychangers, whose presence and work made it impossible for many to pray.
His teachings filled my mind, and I saw myself as one praised by him as he did the impoverished widow as I, who had so little money myself, knew that I had given what I could.
The odor of the roasting lamb entered my imagination as those early followers prepared the Passover meal. I also found myself troubled by one follower who had, in my mind, "gone over" to the enemies. But I felt sure that those enemies could not win--surely this man would outwit them and escape. After all, I had spent my formative years watching TV shows and movies and just knew the hero would defeat his enemies and come out unscathed.
I read about the prediction that one of his especially loyal followers would deny him. I thought, "I'd never do that. I'd stay firm to the end." Filled with my own pride in learning to be a disciple of this man, I read with growing horror the rest of the story. The unfair trials, the prejudiced judges, the nastiness of the crowds who called for the release of a thief and then demanded that this man, whom I had come to love, be killed.
I wept. I just wept. How could they?
Today, I read again that story, and I still weep. But I no longer say, "How could they?" In the years that have passed since I was 20, I have learned much about human nature, and even more about my own human tendencies.
With growing insight, especially in these last few years, I've come to realize that I would be one of those who might cheer this guy from the sidelines, when there was no real cost, but when directly questioned about my allegiance to him, I, too, would cut and run, just as almost everyone else did.
I know now how easily the human, including me, falls into evil, sticks with the crowd, sucks up to people in power, denies true goodness, and seeks to eradicate it.
As I learn this, Easter finally begins to make sense to me. It makes sense when I quit identifying myself as righteous and firm and sure that I would stay the course, but instead recognize that I am far more likely to yell out, "Crucify him!!!!" and go along with the crowd. Then when I hear the words, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they do," I know that I'm included in that pronouncement. So, when I, on Easter Sunday proclaim, “Christ is Risen!” I, too, receive the forgiveness because I really don't know what I am doing much of the time.
Worship with me on Sunday. Let us raise our voices together in grateful praise for the unending gift of re-union with our God. That’s the message of Easter.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Better than Sliced Bread
Every once in a while, a piece of technology comes along that really doesn't complicate one's life--but actually makes it easier.
Most technology simply adds to our workloads or our overloaded brains. Let's face it: since the invention of the PC, the personal secretary has all but disappeared. Now nearly everyone is expected to type their own reports, correspondence, books, etc., and to produce more at the same time.
Another example: washing machines and dryers may have meant that laundry was done more quickly, but they also gave people permission to toss their barely dirty clothes in the hamper sooner and change clothes at will (contributing to more crowded closets, among other things) leading to an equal--or more--amount of time spent actually doing laundry. In a like manner, the invention of the vacuum cleaner and other floor cleaning implements just meant that housekeeping standards kept being raised, not than less time was spent cleaning.
Think about the "smart phone"--as handy as one can be, they also mean that most of us can never, ever really get away from the 24/7 barrage of calls, texts, tweets, FB posts, emails and news items rapidly scrolling our way.
Certainly, most technology does make the doing of certain tasks quicker and more accurate, but the accompanying rise in expectation of expertise and output has been a significant downside.
But today, I learned how to use something called a receipt scanner. I am totally impressed. Once I got past the learning curve (about an hour), I discovered I could quickly scan in my receipts, and then the software would pick up much of the information off them and automatically enter it into a database. I could easily fix what needed to be edited, store the scanned receipt and information in an electronic folder, and within seconds, generate expense reports with the scanned receipts and my notes on them attached.
For an hour, I gleefully scanned and tossed, scanned and tossed, filled a trash can with discarded receipts, emptied manila folders of those same receipts, searched through my purse to find any stray ones lingering around, and then sat back, incredibly lighthearted at finally finding an easy way to deal with my dreaded task of getting my receipts together and turning them in for reimbursement.
I've often heard the cliche tossed about some new advancement that it is "better than sliced bread." This, my friends, really is better than sliced bread! I'm loving it.
Scanningly yours,
Christy
Most technology simply adds to our workloads or our overloaded brains. Let's face it: since the invention of the PC, the personal secretary has all but disappeared. Now nearly everyone is expected to type their own reports, correspondence, books, etc., and to produce more at the same time.
Another example: washing machines and dryers may have meant that laundry was done more quickly, but they also gave people permission to toss their barely dirty clothes in the hamper sooner and change clothes at will (contributing to more crowded closets, among other things) leading to an equal--or more--amount of time spent actually doing laundry. In a like manner, the invention of the vacuum cleaner and other floor cleaning implements just meant that housekeeping standards kept being raised, not than less time was spent cleaning.
Think about the "smart phone"--as handy as one can be, they also mean that most of us can never, ever really get away from the 24/7 barrage of calls, texts, tweets, FB posts, emails and news items rapidly scrolling our way.
Certainly, most technology does make the doing of certain tasks quicker and more accurate, but the accompanying rise in expectation of expertise and output has been a significant downside.
But today, I learned how to use something called a receipt scanner. I am totally impressed. Once I got past the learning curve (about an hour), I discovered I could quickly scan in my receipts, and then the software would pick up much of the information off them and automatically enter it into a database. I could easily fix what needed to be edited, store the scanned receipt and information in an electronic folder, and within seconds, generate expense reports with the scanned receipts and my notes on them attached.
For an hour, I gleefully scanned and tossed, scanned and tossed, filled a trash can with discarded receipts, emptied manila folders of those same receipts, searched through my purse to find any stray ones lingering around, and then sat back, incredibly lighthearted at finally finding an easy way to deal with my dreaded task of getting my receipts together and turning them in for reimbursement.
I've often heard the cliche tossed about some new advancement that it is "better than sliced bread." This, my friends, really is better than sliced bread! I'm loving it.
Scanningly yours,
Christy
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Easter Dates; Easter Thoughts
On Sunday, one of my church members approached me, saying, "I have a column idea for you."
Always on the lookout for help, I eagerly gave him my attention. "Would you please tell me how the date of Easter is calculated? I always know when Christmas is, but never understand when Easter will fall."
Excellent question. Quick answer: It's the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox. The spring equinox, March 21 (technically, it may be the 19th or 20th, but the church settled on the 21st), is the day when both the northern and southern hemispheres enjoy equal amounts of sunlight. After this, the days continue to lengthen in the northern hemisphere and shorten in the southern until the summer solstice, approximately June 21, when the pattern switches.
Using these calculations, Easter can never be earlier than March 22 or later than April 25. With Easter on April 24, we are at the late end of the cycle this year.
Now, while I could rattle that off my tongue, I realized I had no idea of how that formula appeared.
Research showed this: there was considerable controversy over the setting this date. This particular formula may have come from discussions at the Council of Nicea in 325 A.D. Because of differences in calendars, along with other factors, this formula did not get full adoption for hundreds of years. Even today Eastern churches, using a different calendar, generally celebrate Easter a week later than Western churches. However, this year both land on the same date.
Now, the more important question: Why Easter?
Because without this day, we have no hope. Without this day, Christianity has no real eternal meaning; it's just a nice group of sometimes helpful moral thoughts and stories about some people at different places and different times who were trying to find their way to God. Without this day, we do not grasp the real, cosmic, unending truth: God Wins!
I must return to this truth daily.
As I walk with people in the often overwhelming pains and losses of our lives, I need to know: God wins.
As I seek to embody the good news of my own reconciliation to God, my own welcome into the heavenly places, I must know at all times and in all places: God wins.
The Scriptures say, "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
This is the "why" of Easter. Death no longer has power over us. Sin has been vanquished. We need have no fear because the Son has indeed arisen.
Easter makes the most sense if we will take the time acknowledge the events preceding the day of resurrection. Take time to accompany Jesus from the high of his welcome into Jerusalem by the procession of palms, to the melancholy of the Last Supper, during which he gives a new commandment (a mandate, hence Maundy Thursday services of Holy Communion), to the real horror of the crucifixion on Friday, and into the blackness and hopelessness to follow.
Then we arrive at the utter joy of the newness of life on Sunday morning. Sunrise services on Easter Sunday let us enter into our own need for the powerful redemptive hand of God to reach us and bring us into the light as the sun rises and we can sing joyfully, "Up From the Grave He Arose, With a Mighty Power O'er His Foes!"
If you only make one day of worship a year, make it this day. It is this day that gives hope. No other day comes close. Here we know for sure: God does indeed win!
Always on the lookout for help, I eagerly gave him my attention. "Would you please tell me how the date of Easter is calculated? I always know when Christmas is, but never understand when Easter will fall."
Excellent question. Quick answer: It's the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox. The spring equinox, March 21 (technically, it may be the 19th or 20th, but the church settled on the 21st), is the day when both the northern and southern hemispheres enjoy equal amounts of sunlight. After this, the days continue to lengthen in the northern hemisphere and shorten in the southern until the summer solstice, approximately June 21, when the pattern switches.
Using these calculations, Easter can never be earlier than March 22 or later than April 25. With Easter on April 24, we are at the late end of the cycle this year.
Now, while I could rattle that off my tongue, I realized I had no idea of how that formula appeared.
Research showed this: there was considerable controversy over the setting this date. This particular formula may have come from discussions at the Council of Nicea in 325 A.D. Because of differences in calendars, along with other factors, this formula did not get full adoption for hundreds of years. Even today Eastern churches, using a different calendar, generally celebrate Easter a week later than Western churches. However, this year both land on the same date.
Now, the more important question: Why Easter?
Because without this day, we have no hope. Without this day, Christianity has no real eternal meaning; it's just a nice group of sometimes helpful moral thoughts and stories about some people at different places and different times who were trying to find their way to God. Without this day, we do not grasp the real, cosmic, unending truth: God Wins!
I must return to this truth daily.
As I walk with people in the often overwhelming pains and losses of our lives, I need to know: God wins.
As I seek to embody the good news of my own reconciliation to God, my own welcome into the heavenly places, I must know at all times and in all places: God wins.
The Scriptures say, "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
This is the "why" of Easter. Death no longer has power over us. Sin has been vanquished. We need have no fear because the Son has indeed arisen.
Easter makes the most sense if we will take the time acknowledge the events preceding the day of resurrection. Take time to accompany Jesus from the high of his welcome into Jerusalem by the procession of palms, to the melancholy of the Last Supper, during which he gives a new commandment (a mandate, hence Maundy Thursday services of Holy Communion), to the real horror of the crucifixion on Friday, and into the blackness and hopelessness to follow.
Then we arrive at the utter joy of the newness of life on Sunday morning. Sunrise services on Easter Sunday let us enter into our own need for the powerful redemptive hand of God to reach us and bring us into the light as the sun rises and we can sing joyfully, "Up From the Grave He Arose, With a Mighty Power O'er His Foes!"
If you only make one day of worship a year, make it this day. It is this day that gives hope. No other day comes close. Here we know for sure: God does indeed win!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Holy Spirit in Your Holy Church
We need to be reminded frequently of the role of the Holy Spirit in bringing about renewal in the church. I distinctly remember a pivotal moment in a D-Min class on Missions and Ministries after we had jointly studied numerous renewal/revival movements in Christian history, seeking some sort of commonalty.
Essentially, we were looking for a way to engineer the movement of the Holy Spirit. After much study, reading, and discussion, we came to the conclusion that we don't get to demand that the Holy Spirit show up on our time schedule. Like the wind, the Spirit will blow as the Spirit wishes.
All the techniques in the world (even the five basic practices!), even applied perfectly, may lead to an institution where the numbers look great, and the pats on the back come with admiration, perhaps mingled with some jealousy for such accomplishment, but those techniques do not mean that real holiness is present and real transformation is taking place.
I also learned that most, if not all, of those movements were indeed grassroots movements and most, if not all, very much upset the established religious authorities. If a real renewal movement were to show up in the UMC, we would come out on the other end very upside down. How many, especially those with seats of power, authority, and comfort around them, really want that?
Essentially, we were looking for a way to engineer the movement of the Holy Spirit. After much study, reading, and discussion, we came to the conclusion that we don't get to demand that the Holy Spirit show up on our time schedule. Like the wind, the Spirit will blow as the Spirit wishes.
All the techniques in the world (even the five basic practices!), even applied perfectly, may lead to an institution where the numbers look great, and the pats on the back come with admiration, perhaps mingled with some jealousy for such accomplishment, but those techniques do not mean that real holiness is present and real transformation is taking place.
I also learned that most, if not all, of those movements were indeed grassroots movements and most, if not all, very much upset the established religious authorities. If a real renewal movement were to show up in the UMC, we would come out on the other end very upside down. How many, especially those with seats of power, authority, and comfort around them, really want that?
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Western Diets, Food for Thought
NPR aired a story last week about the impact our western diets are making on the world. Info about the story and article can be found here. The person being interviewed, Dr. Kevin Patterson, spoke of the alarming rise all over the world of Type 2 diabetes.
He said,
No country in the world has the resources to continue to treat diabetics the way that they're being treated now, if the prevalence rates increase at the rates that they're increasing for much longer," he says. "I worked in Saipan, which is in the Marianas Island in the Pacific, and there, the dialysis population was increasing at about 18 percent a year, all as a consequence of diabetes and acculturation — exactly the same process as what's going on with the Inuit.
When you look at the curves, it's clear how unsustainable it is. In 20 or 30 years, everybody on that island will either be a dialysis patient or a dialysis nurse unless something fundamental is done about the rise in diabetes. That's no less true in Canada and in Samoa and Hawaii, and even in Omaha and Toronto. We all have exactly the same problem when we plot out those curves.
When you look at the curves, it's clear how unsustainable it is. In 20 or 30 years, everybody on that island will either be a dialysis patient or a dialysis nurse unless something fundamental is done about the rise in diabetes. That's no less true in Canada and in Samoa and Hawaii, and even in Omaha and Toronto. We all have exactly the same problem when we plot out those curves.
What an awful future he projects! And he is probably right--cheap, easy to fix and serve food has just taken over. The heavy carb/sugar ratio in most of those foods pushes the insulin response to high gear which leads to excessive fat storage and both help create fertile ground for developing Type 2 diabetes. And these days, fewer are able to find the leisure to fix (and to grow) more healthy meals and then also to take the time to sit down and eat them, again with leisure.
I know I keep hitting this theme, but . . . we are just too busy. The real and important is constantly being exchanged for the less-real, the less important, the substitute that panders to laziness and the need to over-consume, rather than savor a smaller, and more flavorful amount, not just of food, but of work, play, things--we have too much of everything.
We are so used to being served huge amounts of food that we forget to just enjoy the piece. Did you know that a large tub of movie theater popcorn with butter topping just by itself has about 1500 calories? And a large soft drink to wash it down it contains another 500? Unfortunately, some compelling evidence suggests that diet drinks may stimulate the same insulin response that the regular ones do, and thus be adding to the type 2 diabetes risk.
I so often wonder what God does think of the way we have chemicalized and altered the wonderful things offered to us to eat in the beautiful mystery of creation. Perhaps when we get to heaven, we'll discover all we lost by the exchange.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Chilling Killer
I read this article this morning and thought I would throw up. The article speaks of one Clarence Bailey, who, having just been convicted of capital murder of an elderly woman, leaned back in his chair and grinned while the elderly woman's son spoke during the victim impact statement time during the sentencing phase. Bailey, speaking without permission, then said, "I'm still gonna be a man."
Is our society ever going to wake up to the fact that when people are raised without moral principles deeply ingrained in their souls that such "people" are really lower than animals on the morality chain? In my understanding, only badly damaged animals kill just for the pleasure of it. Yes, killing goes on in the animal world, but it is done in the name of survival, to feed themselves and their offspring, not for pleasure and not to prove something.
Only humans, utterly debased humans, get to go that low, to kill just to prove something. Debased humans land there, the ones that fill their minds with trash, trash that elevates cruelty, rape, murder and violence as admirable and desirable.
When will we figure out that cruelty begets cruelty? When will we finally understand that Jesus' admonition to "turn the other cheek" is the only path that can ultimately lead to some sort of decency among us?
I am always reminded after I read something like this that the veneer of civilization is both thin and fragile and takes much work to maintain it.
But it can happen and it happens only with the transformation of the soul and the willingness to engage in the real "manhood" of the journey to sanctification. It can. But it usually doesn't.
Monday, April 04, 2011
Our Rocks
This past Sunday,we spent the morning singing our favorite Gospel hymns. A fun and poignant morning, at least for me.
As we sang, "Rock of Ages," written over 250 years ago, the exquisite language and the need expressed--that God, our Rock, would indeed open ("cleft") for us and provide a safe hiding place--touched me deeply.
Three things spoke to me.
One, partly because I am feeling especially vulnerable right now as I deal with some health issues (as they say, getting older is NOT for sissies) and facing the ongoing challenges of pastoring a church in an increasingly complex, consumeristic society, is the need for some periodic safety.
As a friend of mine put it yesterday, I need a break from the unrelenting pressure and demands.
I need that Rock to open up and shelter me for a while from the storms, the pressures, the reports, the complaints, and the endless "to-do" lists. The kinds of breaks where full freedom from the unique calling of the pastorate rarely show up. There is always another message or article that must be prepared; there are always people who need to be contacted and meetings that need to be held; and always, at least for me, a lingering sense of guilt that I still have not done enough, that many express disappointment in me, that the church suffers because of who I am and what I bring to the table.
But there was more. As we sang, I saw the need for each of us to find our own rocks--the solid places upon which we can build our lives and make decisions. What will I base my life upon? What truths for me are unshakable, and give me the strength to go forward? What is it that I am willing to die for? What is merely window dressing, nice but discardable if necessary?
All of us need to define our rocks, the non-negotiables of our lives. Otherwise, the shifting sands underneath our feet give us no more stability than a tree with unsubstantial roots has in a hurricane. The powerful winds of life simply blow us over, exposing the lack of substance underneath. If we do not identify our own rocks, we become dangerously subject to harmful group-think, as in lemings going over a cliff. But we when know who we are and what we know to be true, we find the power to say a healthy "No" when necessary.
Finally, I realized that the very exquisiteness of the language and the rich theology of the hymn meant that many found the words incomprehensible. Something that for me flowed with richness and brought me to tears would pass without impact through their ears, minds and souls.
What happens when we lose the ability to understand our heritage and history?
At one point, I took an acting class to help improve my stage presence. We were given a passage from Shakespeare, told to put it in modern language so we'd understand the meaning, and then memorize the words in the original for presentation. I had no problem with the task. Years steeped in Bible study and reading classic literature served me well. No one else, all much younger than I, had a clue how to access the meaning of Shakespeare's words. Their blankness startled both me and the instructor.
This inability to know and understand our heritage, be it religious, cultural, scientific or political, puts our entire way of life onto precarious, shifting-sand footing. With the cuts in school funding, it will only get worse.
All I can suggest is this: turn off the TV. Stop putting ourselves and our children in front of screens, be they big or micro-sized. Start reading. A generation of illiterates cannot solve complex problems. And we have a bundle of them before us.
As we sang, "Rock of Ages," written over 250 years ago, the exquisite language and the need expressed--that God, our Rock, would indeed open ("cleft") for us and provide a safe hiding place--touched me deeply.
Three things spoke to me.
One, partly because I am feeling especially vulnerable right now as I deal with some health issues (as they say, getting older is NOT for sissies) and facing the ongoing challenges of pastoring a church in an increasingly complex, consumeristic society, is the need for some periodic safety.
As a friend of mine put it yesterday, I need a break from the unrelenting pressure and demands.
I need that Rock to open up and shelter me for a while from the storms, the pressures, the reports, the complaints, and the endless "to-do" lists. The kinds of breaks where full freedom from the unique calling of the pastorate rarely show up. There is always another message or article that must be prepared; there are always people who need to be contacted and meetings that need to be held; and always, at least for me, a lingering sense of guilt that I still have not done enough, that many express disappointment in me, that the church suffers because of who I am and what I bring to the table.
But there was more. As we sang, I saw the need for each of us to find our own rocks--the solid places upon which we can build our lives and make decisions. What will I base my life upon? What truths for me are unshakable, and give me the strength to go forward? What is it that I am willing to die for? What is merely window dressing, nice but discardable if necessary?
All of us need to define our rocks, the non-negotiables of our lives. Otherwise, the shifting sands underneath our feet give us no more stability than a tree with unsubstantial roots has in a hurricane. The powerful winds of life simply blow us over, exposing the lack of substance underneath. If we do not identify our own rocks, we become dangerously subject to harmful group-think, as in lemings going over a cliff. But we when know who we are and what we know to be true, we find the power to say a healthy "No" when necessary.
Finally, I realized that the very exquisiteness of the language and the rich theology of the hymn meant that many found the words incomprehensible. Something that for me flowed with richness and brought me to tears would pass without impact through their ears, minds and souls.
What happens when we lose the ability to understand our heritage and history?
At one point, I took an acting class to help improve my stage presence. We were given a passage from Shakespeare, told to put it in modern language so we'd understand the meaning, and then memorize the words in the original for presentation. I had no problem with the task. Years steeped in Bible study and reading classic literature served me well. No one else, all much younger than I, had a clue how to access the meaning of Shakespeare's words. Their blankness startled both me and the instructor.
This inability to know and understand our heritage, be it religious, cultural, scientific or political, puts our entire way of life onto precarious, shifting-sand footing. With the cuts in school funding, it will only get worse.
All I can suggest is this: turn off the TV. Stop putting ourselves and our children in front of screens, be they big or micro-sized. Start reading. A generation of illiterates cannot solve complex problems. And we have a bundle of them before us.
Our Rocks
This past Sunday,we spent the morning singing our favorite Gospel hymns. A fun and poignant morning, at least for me.
As we sang, "Rock of Ages," written over 250 years ago, the exquisite language and the need expressed--that God, our Rock, would indeed open ("cleft") for us and provide a safe hiding place--touched me deeply.
Three things spoke to me.
One, partly because I am feeling especially vulnerable right now as I deal with some health issues (as they say, getting older is NOT for sissies) and facing the ongoing challenges of pastoring a church in an increasingly complex, consumeristic society, is the need for some periodic safety.
As a friend of mine put it yesterday, I need a break from the unrelenting pressure and demands.
I need that Rock to open up and shelter me for a while from the storms, the pressures, the reports, the complaints, and the endless "to-do" lists. The kinds of breaks where full freedom from the unique calling of the pastorate rarely show up. There is always another message or article that must be prepared; there are always people who need to be contacted and meetings that need to be held; and always, at least for me, a lingering sense of guilt that I still have not done enough, that many express disappointment in me, that the church suffers because of who I am and what I bring to the table.
But there was more. As we sang, I saw the need for each of us to find our own rocks--the solid places upon which we can build our lives and make decisions. What will I base my life upon? What truths for me are unshakable, and give me the strength to go forward? What is it that I am willing to die for? What is merely window dressing, nice but discardable if necessary?
All of us need to define our rocks, the non-negotiables of our lives. Otherwise, the shifting sands underneath our feet give us no more stability than a tree with unsubstantial roots has in a hurricane. The powerful winds of life simply blow us over, exposing the lack of substance underneath. If we do not identify our own rocks, we become dangerously subject to harmful group-think, as in lemings going over a cliff. But we when know who we are and what we know to be true, we find the power to say a healthy "No" when necessary.
Finally, I realized that the very exquisiteness of the language and the rich theology of the hymn meant that many found the words incomprehensible. Something that for me flowed with richness and brought me to tears would pass without impact through their ears, minds and souls.
What happens when we lose the ability to understand our heritage and history?
At one point, I took an acting class to help improve my stage presence. We were given a passage from Shakespeare, told to put it in modern language so we'd understand the meaning, and then memorize the words in the original for presentation. I had no problem with the task. Years steeped in Bible study and reading classic literature served me well. No one else, all much younger than I, had a clue how to access the meaning of Shakespeare's words. Their blankness startled both me and the instructor.
This inability to know and understand our heritage, be it religious, cultural, scientific or political, puts our entire way of life onto precarious, shifting-sand footing. With the cuts in school funding, it will only get worse.
All I can suggest is this: turn off the TV. Stop putting ourselves and our children in front of screens, be they big or micro-sized. Start reading. A generation of illiterates cannot solve complex problems. And we have a bundle of them before us.
As we sang, "Rock of Ages," written over 250 years ago, the exquisite language and the need expressed--that God, our Rock, would indeed open ("cleft") for us and provide a safe hiding place--touched me deeply.
Three things spoke to me.
One, partly because I am feeling especially vulnerable right now as I deal with some health issues (as they say, getting older is NOT for sissies) and facing the ongoing challenges of pastoring a church in an increasingly complex, consumeristic society, is the need for some periodic safety.
As a friend of mine put it yesterday, I need a break from the unrelenting pressure and demands.
I need that Rock to open up and shelter me for a while from the storms, the pressures, the reports, the complaints, and the endless "to-do" lists. The kinds of breaks where full freedom from the unique calling of the pastorate rarely show up. There is always another message or article that must be prepared; there are always people who need to be contacted and meetings that need to be held; and always, at least for me, a lingering sense of guilt that I still have not done enough, that many express disappointment in me, that the church suffers because of who I am and what I bring to the table.
But there was more. As we sang, I saw the need for each of us to find our own rocks--the solid places upon which we can build our lives and make decisions. What will I base my life upon? What truths for me are unshakable, and give me the strength to go forward? What is it that I am willing to die for? What is merely window dressing, nice but discardable if necessary?
All of us need to define our rocks, the non-negotiables of our lives. Otherwise, the shifting sands underneath our feet give us no more stability than a tree with unsubstantial roots has in a hurricane. The powerful winds of life simply blow us over, exposing the lack of substance underneath. If we do not identify our own rocks, we become dangerously subject to harmful group-think, as in lemings going over a cliff. But we when know who we are and what we know to be true, we find the power to say a healthy "No" when necessary.
Finally, I realized that the very exquisiteness of the language and the rich theology of the hymn meant that many found the words incomprehensible. Something that for me flowed with richness and brought me to tears would pass without impact through their ears, minds and souls.
What happens when we lose the ability to understand our heritage and history?
At one point, I took an acting class to help improve my stage presence. We were given a passage from Shakespeare, told to put it in modern language so we'd understand the meaning, and then memorize the words in the original for presentation. I had no problem with the task. Years steeped in Bible study and reading classic literature served me well. No one else, all much younger than I, had a clue how to access the meaning of Shakespeare's words. Their blankness startled both me and the instructor.
This inability to know and understand our heritage, be it religious, cultural, scientific or political, puts our entire way of life onto precarious, shifting-sand footing. With the cuts in school funding, it will only get worse.
All I can suggest is this: turn off the TV. Stop putting ourselves and our children in front of screens, be they big or micro-sized. Start reading. A generation of illiterates cannot solve complex problems. And we have a bundle of them before us.
On the lighter side today, you really must see this video. It's a wonderfully tongue-in-cheek poke at the fad diets floating around these days.
It was put on for the Ig Noble Prize ceremony.
According to their website, "The Ig Nobel Prizes honor achievements that first make people laugh, and then make them think. The prizes are intended to celebrate the unusual, honor the imaginative — and spur people's interest in science, medicine, and technology."
It is really best if you are drinking coffee while you watch this! Since I'm not a coffee drinker, my cup of tea had to suffice. Enjoy!
It was put on for the Ig Noble Prize ceremony.
According to their website, "The Ig Nobel Prizes honor achievements that first make people laugh, and then make them think. The prizes are intended to celebrate the unusual, honor the imaginative — and spur people's interest in science, medicine, and technology."
It is really best if you are drinking coffee while you watch this! Since I'm not a coffee drinker, my cup of tea had to suffice. Enjoy!
Sunday, April 03, 2011
And While I'm At It . . .
Parenting, pastoring . . . it's the same never-ending learning curve. No matter how much I do, I'm still an amateur. I remind myself that an "amateur" is one who loves the task, even if not done to "professional" standards!!
From this site: http://www.fborfw.com/strip_fix/.
Friday, April 01, 2011
The No Phone Afternoon
I walked out one afternoon earlier this week without my mobile phone. I planned to spend the afternoon in reading and sermon prep, and left the office to a place where I could work uninterrupted.
About five minutes away, I realized I didn't have my phone. I thought about turning around and getting it, but decided to go "cold turkey" instead.
I had my laptop, since I would be writing, and where I'm working has free WiFi, so emailed my staff to let them know that I didn't have it.
I feel interestingly free. No phone. No text messages. No reminders of appointments or scheduled tasks. Only the interruptions I choose, not the ones imposed on me by it.
I know we are all in information overload. We know too much. Information about wars, rumors or wars, hurricanes, earthquakes, nuclear meltdowns, and political upheavals taking place around the world land in our readers and tweets and updates within seconds. We know instantly when family members are ill, the moments babies are born and have constant updates with current activities and thoughts.
It's too much. It's just too much. I think it is killing us, alienating us, and separating ourselves from our souls, from our rhythms, and from God.
And, of course, I will post this on my blog in just moment, where it will be picked up by the RSS utility within a second, and within a few moments, will be picked up by Twitter and pushed through to Facebook.
We've really got to do something about this!
I know we are all in information overload. We know too much. Information about wars, rumors or wars, hurricanes, earthquakes, nuclear meltdowns, and political upheavals taking place around the world land in our readers and tweets and updates within seconds. We know instantly when family members are ill, the moments babies are born and have constant updates with current activities and thoughts.
It's too much. It's just too much. I think it is killing us, alienating us, and separating ourselves from our souls, from our rhythms, and from God.
And, of course, I will post this on my blog in just moment, where it will be picked up by the RSS utility within a second, and within a few moments, will be picked up by Twitter and pushed through to Facebook.
We've really got to do something about this!
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